


there'll be nothing left of you and me

by jortsbian



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Deadlights (IT), M/M, this is the opposite of a fix it fic. this is worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28624044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jortsbian/pseuds/jortsbian
Summary: The consensus the others come to, as far as Richie can tell, is this: the four of them who are still able to walk will lure It into a small space to kill It, and once It is dead, they’ll haul ass back over to Richie and Eddie and, assuming they haven’t already bled out, they’ll pull them up and out of the sewers and to a hospital. It seems like a solid enough plan to Richie, who isn’t really convinced either of them are going to survive to get out of here at all. He voices as much to Eddie, who coughs hard and glares at him.“You think I don’t know that, asshole? You got stabbedthroughme, I’m pretty fucking aware of how dire our situation is. You don’t have to say it.”“Saying things is kind of my whole spiel, Eddie my love,” Richie laughs, and it hurts like hell.or: imagine canon but worse
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 37
Kudos: 131





	there'll be nothing left of you and me

**Author's Note:**

> title from "two coffins" by against me!
> 
> thanks ashlee and call for supporting me thru this very short writing process and for yelling at me for being evil. i wouldn't have finished this nearly as quickly without you two
> 
> tws: suicidal ideation, alcohol abuse, graphic major character death, canon-typical violence

Richie blinks the Deadlights from his eyes, and there is Eddie Kaspbrak.

He is, quite frankly, stunned. Richie is fairly certain he had just been in his sad little apartment, attempting to drink his loneliness away and then to drink away the bitter disappointment when it hadn't worked. He's been dodging calls for who knows how long, from his manager and Bill and Bev and Mike and Ben and no one else, because they are the only people left who give a damn about him and even they're losing their patience. He's pretty sure it's been months. Years, maybe. Centuries upon centuries of crushing loneliness not unlike the loneliness he's known his entire adult life, only now it has a name seared across it. 

It's easier to miss someone when you know who you're missing, but it's a lot harder, too.

He had lost track of what bottle he was on of the day—too many, certainly, yet still not enough to make it hurt any less. And maybe he'd been reckless, but Richie has never been careful when it came to watching after himself. That had always been Eddie's job, but thoughts like that just urged him to pick up the next bottle. He'd done just that, and then he'd lost track of himself, but he's pretty confident that he picked up another bottle or three along the way, and then he wakes up with a shock through his legs and up his back and Eddie hovering above him, which really shouldn't be possible because Eddie has been dead for the aforementioned daysmonthsyears and should have no way of crawling on top of Richie right now. 

"Hey Rich, wake up!" Eddie says, and his voice is so full of joy that it just about snaps Richie's already shattered heart into twice as many pieces. He pats Richie's cheek to get his attention  _ (as if he could ever focus anywhere else—unlikely) _ and grins. As soon as Richie's eyes roll towards him, he says a bit nonsensically, "Yeah, yeah! There he is, buddy!" and Richie realizes  _ oh, he's getting a do-over. _

His limbs are all exhausted and screaming in pain but he forces himself to reach up and yank Eddie down towards him. He falls easily, startled. Richie can't do much more than cling to him and try not to cry too loudly. Eddie squirms in his grasp but doesn't try to escape it, just pats awkwardly at his chest where his hand is still trapped between them.

"Hey, Richie. Are you okay, man?" Eddie asks. He sounds hesitant, but the edge of it is still elated. "I think I got It, man! Don't worry! I really think I got It for real—"

He's cut off by an awful squelching sound, but Richie doesn't even have a second to panic about it before his own abdomen explodes in pain like he's never felt before. He twitches hard and hears Eddie choke in pain against him. His restless movements have largely stopped and Richie panics; it's too soon to lose Eddie again. He's sure he can't go through mourning Eddie again. 

Panicked, he pats his hands—already wrapped around Eddie's back—across him until he finds the source of the pain. There is a claw protruding from Eddie's back that aligns with the pain through Richie's torso, all the way from his front to back and digging into the rock beneath him. Eddie groans pitifully as Richie clings harder to him but he can't bring himself to stop, already terrified of the future he knew well could play out. He's grateful for it, at least, when the claw is ripped forcefully back out, tearing through flesh and sending them flying together through the air. He thinks someone might scream—Bev, maybe—but Richie can't focus on much other than clinging to Eddie as they tumble hard against the rocky ground. 

There's an incredible amount of blood. Richie knows that much. He can feel it pouring out of him like sand down an hourglass, and assumes it's probably counting down his time. The blood on his front could be his or Eddie's, but he really has no way of knowing. Probably both, if he thinks about it. There's blood in his mouth, too, but from what, he doesn't know. He's sure he must've broken some bones in the fall as well, but he can't focus on it in light of the pain radiating from his center. Against him, Eddie groans.

"What the fuck was that," he coughs out. Richie's not sure how to answer. He doesn’t have time to come up with a reply before the others all rush down into their little crevice. Their presence is announced by horrified gasps, but Richie can’t exactly see them with his face still buried in the junction between Eddie’s neck and his shoulder. He should really be fixated on that, but it’s becoming difficult to think about anything other than the pain and  _ Eddie, _ beyond any other comprehension.

Ben and Mike manage to pull the two of them apart. Richie wants to hold on tighter to Eddie, to cling to him until the very last second, but he’s hurt and exhausted and doesn’t have it in him to put up a fight against his friends right now anyways. They’re only separated enough to both be propped against a cropping of rocks, and Richie is finally able to get a look at the grisly wounds. Eddie’s seem to be wider, bleeding harder, but maybe Richie is just biased. He wouldn’t mind his injury so much, he thinks, if only Eddie was okay. Bill rushes to press his overshirt to Eddie’s chest, and an animalistic part of Richie settles. He can’t see it, so it isn’t happening. The blood doesn’t take long to leak through the shirt, though, and the comfort is gone by the time Mike is there to press his jacket against Richie. 

He realizes too late that everyone is crying. God, his mind feels fucking scrambled.

“What now?” Bill pleads, a little desperately. He looks stricken in the same way he had when Pennywise had taken Georgie’s shape and begged to go home.  _ Maybe, _ Richie thinks,  _ Bill is realizing he is about to lose another brother. _

“I almost killed it earlier,” Eddie says. It sounds weak in a way that doesn’t fit Eddie at all. Still, he perseveres, because Eddie has always been the strongest person Richie knows. “In the pharmacy earlier. The leper. I had my hands around its throat. It felt so… weak.” He turns his head just far enough to look at Richie and repeats himself, a little more confident. “It felt so weak.”

Richie wishes deeply he could be half as strong as Eddie. He hadn’t done anything to hurt It, in the end. What had he done? Run away, and run away, and run away. Get himself caught in the Deadlights, and run some more in whatever future may or may not have happened in that vision. 

He wouldn’t run this time. He held Eddie’s gaze, as frightening as it was, and felt horribly like a coward.

“All living things must abide by the shape they inhabit,” Mike gasps. In his excitement about the realization, he presses a little harder against Richie’s wound. When Richie fails to contain his whimper, Mike sobers again, dragged back down by sadness. He mutters, “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Bev says something about making It small enough to kill It, but Richie tunes her out with only a little guilt. He knows he won’t be any help, it won’t matter if he pays attention. Instead, he focuses on Eddie’s gaze, hazy but steady on him. He seems to be deep in thought in the way that has always chilled Richie to his core, as if he can see into his psyche and knows all of the things Richie thinks about him. But Eddie doesn’t look away, and Richie thinks maybe he can be brave like Eddie, just this once. Richie holds his gaze.

The consensus the others come to, as far as Richie can tell, is this: the four of them who are still able to walk will lure It into a small space to kill It, and once It is dead, they’ll haul ass back over to Richie and Eddie and, assuming they haven’t already bled out, they’ll pull them up and out of the sewers and to a hospital. It seems like a solid enough plan to Richie, who isn’t really convinced either of them are going to survive to get out of here at all. He voices as much to Eddie, who coughs hard and glares at him.

“You think I don’t know that, asshole? You got stabbed  _ through _ me, I’m pretty fucking aware of how dire our situation is. You don’t have to  _ say _ it.”

“Saying things is kind of my whole spiel, Eddie my love,” Richie laughs, and it hurts like hell. Eddie frowns.

“You haven’t called me that in a long time,” he says. He’s back to searching Richie’s face like he’ll find the answer there. Richie is afraid he might. 

“We haven’t seen each other in, like, 25 years, dude,” Richie says instead, like he doesn’t know exactly what Eddie is talking about. Eddie scoffs.

“You know what I mean. You stopped that before you moved.” He pauses as a cough wracks his body, and Richie is horrified to see more blood drip down his chin. If Eddie notices it, he doesn’t care. He fixes his stare back on Richie’s face. “Why?” 

“Eds,” Richie says. He’s not sure how to continue, but he thinks Eddie knew he wouldn’t, anyway. Eddie sighs.

“I feel like there are things I’m just now realizing about myself, or allowing myself to realize.” He looks straight at Richie, and Richie is caught. He can’t do anything but stare back. It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh, although it dissolves quickly. “You know, my whole life I’ve thought I was—sick, I guess, or  _ dirty. _ I didn’t even know why, just that I was. I was never clean or, or pure in the way anyone else was. And I’m fucking pissed that it took me until I was dying to realize that’s just a bunch of horseshit my mom made me believe because she wanted me to think I had to rely on her.”

_ You’re not dying, _ Richie wants to say, except that he had just said they were both going to die a minute earlier and he isn’t sure how to walk it back from that. Instead, he admits quietly, “I feel that way too.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. He searches Richie’s face a little more intently, like he’s trying to find something specific instead of looking for a mystery to solve. He nods to himself as if he’s found it. Richie isn’t sure whether he hopes he did or not. “I don’t think you’re dirty, Rich. I don’t think you’ve ever been.”

“Then you’re not either, Eddie,” he says, and he surprises himself with how much he means it. “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known. A thousand times braver than me.”

Eddie laughs at that, but he drops it when he sees Richie isn’t laughing with him. He shifts a little closer to Richie.

“I think you’re pretty brave, Rich. Don’t throw yourself under the bus like that.” Richie shakes his head before Eddie can finish speaking, and he hears Eddie scoff. “Asshole, I’m trying to be sincere.”

“Yeah, well, knock it off. It’s a bad look on you, Spaghetti.”

“That one you should’ve stopped using before you even started. What the fuck, that’s horrible. I forgot about it.”

“You forgot about a lot more than just my bad nicknames, bud,” Richie says. It sounds like a joke, but it’s tinged with hurt in a way he thinks Eddie can hear. Eddie just glares at him.

“Yeah, I’m well fucking aware of that, thanks. Shut the fuck up.” Eddie grimaces as he strains. Talking with his hands has always seemed to come naturally to him, but it looks to Richie like it hurts more than it expresses his point. He drops his hands to his lap. 

When they fall silent, it’s only broken by their ragged breaths. There’s a moment of quiet before a shout breaks through it—Ben, by the sound of it. Eddie’s brow furrows.

“What—what are they  _ doing? _ Are they just scolding It?”

Richie laughs. Eddie glares at him again, but in the way he had done as a kid when he wasn’t sure whether Richie was making a joke at his expense or not and chose to go on the defensive just in case. It made Richie feel immeasurably fond.

“I forgot to tell them to just bully It to death. Oh, shit. At least they figured it out," he chuckles, and Eddie's expression turns confused. 

"You forgot— Bully It—  _ What?" _ Eddie asks, like he can't decide which part is the most pressing. "How would you  _ know?" _

That sobers Richie. He lets his laughter end and his smile drop. Still, he tries to joke.

"Oh, well, Pennywise and I go way back. We hang out, get beers every so often. Just to shoot the shits, you know? And one time It told me,  _ Richie, _ It said,  _ I've gotta confess. My one true weakness is actually my disastrously low self-esteem. If anyone picks on me I'll just about die. _ And I was like shit, bud, me too—"

"Richie," Eddie interrupts sternly, but he's giggling enough to let Richie know he's not actually mad. Richie gives him a wary smile. 

"I saw it happen in the Deadlights. How we killed It and everything that happened after," he admits. Eddie's eyes grow wide.

"You saw it? Like, the future? Us after this?" There's a hope in his voice that wasn't there before; it sits on Richie's shoulders like a weight. He shrugs and hisses in pain.

"I guess so. It wasn't exactly like this, though. I wasn't stabbed that time." 

Eddie sits with that for a moment. A frown inches its way back into his face, and Richie regrets ever opening his big mouth in the first place.

_ "You _ weren't stabbed, but I was?" Eddie asks. He sounds like he's accepted it already. Through gritted teeth, Richie confirms. "So, what, did I just  _ die? _ That's it?"

"Yeah, Eds, pretty fucking much. Once Pennywise turned you into a donut, we called It names until It died, and then we got back to you and you were— We didn't bring you out. The whole place came down around us. We barely made it out before the whole thing collapsed, house and everything." He doesn't tell Eddie that they had to drag him away. It feels too raw, too telling. 

Eddie is quiet for a long minute. Richie almost begins to panic, but he can hear his ragged breaths. When Eddie speaks, it's not what he expects to hear.

"Everyone else was okay, though?" 

"Define 'okay.'" When Eddie glares meaningfully, Richie wishes he could throw his arms into the air in exasperation. "No, seriously! Yeah, the five of us lived. The four of them were happy, even. I'm pretty sure I drank myself to death, but sure, I survived the cistern collapsing."

"Richie…" Eddie starts, but he doesn't seem to have an end to the sentence. That's okay. Richie admitted more than he should have. 

"Whatever. Who's to say that was real anyway? We can't trust anything in this stupid town. Doesn't matter," Richie insists. Eddie doesn't look convinced, but Richie didn't expect him to. Still, he seems to waver before gasping in realization. 

"Holy shit! Stan!" Eddie exclaims. Despite himself, he can't seem to figure out Eddie's train of thought. Eddie seems to pick up on that, though, so he prods at Richie. "Dude, he's probably not even dead, right? Because, I mean, we called his wife but she sounded super weird, right? And Bev saw him die in the Deadlights, but why should we assume that was real? It was probably just making it up to scare us, right?"

"I… Yeah, I guess so. Holy shit," Richie echoes. It makes sense. He almost can't believe he didn't think of it sooner. "God, I miss him. I wish I could've seen that little weirdo again."

"Me too." Eddie sighs. "You think he's happy?"

"Stan? Yeah, probably. I hope so. He's married, right? That's gotta be a good sign."

"I guess so," Eddie says. He seems to mull something over before admitting quietly, "I wish I wasn't. Married, I mean. I think I've wasted my whole life chaining myself to unhappiness because it felt like home. Isn't that sad? People make out home to be this safe haven, but really it's just—prison. Where they chain you up so you can't run away and realize you deserve better, if better even exists."

Richie has never experienced anything like that. Home  _ was _ safe, but it was lonely, too. Home for him was a place where he got to be himself at his truest: alone. There were no chains because there was no one to chain him down. Still, he nods.

"I think you've gotta be some flavor of sad to come back here, so Stan's probably the happiest of all of us," Richie muses. He expects Eddie to make fun of him, but all he gets is a solemn nod in reply. He pokes lightly at Eddie's side. "You wish you weren't married?"

"She's basically my mom, dude," Eddie admits miserably. "She coddles me and, I mean, I told her I was sick so maybe it's my fault but I'm just  _ miserable. _ And I wish I could just… start over. Take it all back. Start fresh, you know?"

"Yeah," Richie says, because he didn't really expect Eddie to be quite so genuine but he knows enough to shut the fuck up for once. "Hey, don't worry, dude. If we get out of here, you can get whatever girl you want."

Eddie fidgets uncomfortably. 

"I don't think I even  _ want—" _ he starts, and then sighs. He sounds defeated when he asks, "do you think 40 is too old to be closeted?"

Richie's heart stutters in his chest. If he wasn't already dying, he's pretty sure he would've started then. Swallowing hard, he decides to be brave for what feels like the first time in his life.

"If it is, I've been doing something wrong," he admits. Eddie's eyes go wide and he searches Richie's face again, like he'll find some proof that he's joking written across his features. Richie wonders what he sees. A sad, broken man? Someone who's been lonely his entire life, isolated even in the rare instance when he wasn't alone? It's what he sees in the mirror. 

Whatever Eddie sees, it isn't a joke. With a bracing breath, he stretches his hand across the rocks towards Richie. In a second impossible act of bravery, Richie takes it, twining their fingers together. There's blood on both of their hands, but it's comforting. It reminds Richie of the last time he'd held Eddie's hand, also covered in blood that caked into his cast. Richie huffs a quiet laugh.

"Do you remember the blood oath?" Richie asks when Eddie makes a confused sound in the base of his throat. "We were so determined to come back. We really thought it would work out, you know? I was always excited to grow up, but I thought it would be with you at my side. All of you, I mean. I wanted to get out of Derry and leave all my dumb kid problems in the past, and now I would give just about anything to go back there, you know? But we can't go back to childhood, as fucked up as that is. You want it to be over, but as soon as it is, you just want to go back to the start."

"I think I know what you mean," Eddie agrees. Richie gives his hand a squeeze. "I just want more time, I think. Time to start over, or fix my mistakes, and figure out how to be happy. I used to think I'd grow up to be happy, you know?"

Richie has never expected to be happy, but he nods anyway. He rubs his finger against Eddie's wedding ring, and understands that it may as well be a brick tied to him with his it drags him down. 

"Hey, if we survive this, what do you want to do first?" Richie asks, and Eddie snorts.

"Uh, go to the hospital, obviously?" The eyeroll he gives Richie is practically audible. "I have two more holes than I'm supposed to. That's fucked up." 

Richie can't stop himself from giggling, even as it makes his injury throb. He wishes he was mobile enough to flick Eddie.

"After that, dipshit. Say you're all healed, roaring and ready to go. What do you do?"

"I don't know. Ask for a divorce, I guess." When Richie laughs, Eddie smiles, smug and happy. "Why, what are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm on the first plane to Georgia. I need to get Stan back for not coming home or look like an asshole in denial for trying."

"Alright. I'm doing that, then," Eddie says, like he isn't rocking Richie's entire world. It's always been amazing, the way Eddie defies all expectations.

If Eddie can be brave, so can Richie. He takes a bracing breath and prepares to serve Eddie all the most hidden parts of himself on a platter.

He never expected to tell Eddie anything too close to his heart. It felt like it would sign his life away, like the second the words left his mouth he’d doom himself to losing Eddie and everyone else that ever mattered. But here, hand in hand, faces wet with tears and greywater and blood, he feels like maybe the fear will be worth it. Eddie’s eyes search his face expectantly, and Richie takes the plunge.

"I love you, you know," Richie finally admits. It feels like reaching through the hole in his chest to pull out his heart and hand it to Eddie, but it also feels like relief. Eddie grins weakly and squeezes his hand. Richie can barely feel it. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Longer, probably.”

"I know," Eddie teases, and Richie scoffs. Eddie laughs harder than he probably should until it dissolves into harsh, bloody coughs. Richie can't do anything but rub his thumb across the back of Eddie's hand. 

Once the coughing subsides, Eddie glances back at Richie, half-lidded yet determined. He doesn't have much longer. Richie hopes darkly that he doesn't either. 

"Hey, c'mere," Eddie slurs. Richie can barely move as is, but he's never been one to deny Eddie anything. He pushes himself closer to Eddie despite the searing pain until they're pressed against each other shoulder to shoulder. He turns his head to look at Eddie and Eddie is already looking back, and suddenly they're kissing. It's slow but desperate, like they can press every good thing they've ever felt into it. Their mouths taste like blood and sewage—it's the best kiss he's ever had. It hurts like nothing has ever hurt. Richie tries to kiss some life back into Eddie, or rather to transfer his own waning life into him. 

When they break apart, it's only out of necessity. They're both struggling to breathe, but that doesn't stop Eddie from reaching his free hand up to Richie's cheek. His grasp is shaky, weak in a way that has never fit Eddie. Still, he caresses his cheek lightly, and maybe that's a sign of strength, Richie realizes. His ability to push through the hurt. 

"Eds," Richie says, and it sounds like a prayer.

"Don't call me that," Eddie says, barely more than a whisper. His hand slips from Richie's cheek, and it feels like acceptance. Still, he grins at Richie as best he can. "You know I… I…" 

Richie feels like he's been doused in cold water. He squeezes Eddie's hand desperately, fingers still linked, but the hazy dullness in his eyes says enough. Richie sobs brokenly. With his free hand, he tugs Eddie's head to his chest and cradles him there like he's something precious. 

It takes a new ache in his throat to make Richie realize he's screaming in anguish. His feelings are larger than him, larger than anything. They could've had so much. He hadn't known, not for sure, but now that he does he almost wishes he didn't. It hurts more than anything, more than his own steadily oozing wound. Richie aches for the past they were torn apart for and the future they were ripped from. Shouldn't they be allowed happiness outside of the dark? Shouldn't their futures be more than rotting away buried deep enough underground to be forgotten?

_ At least they'd be rotting together, _ some desperate part of Richie's mind cries. They weren't dirty, they never had been, but maybe they could have a future left in the mud. Maybe it would be alright if they were together. 

The cries of the other Losers echo through the cavern. He hadn’t heard them, had been too focused on Eddie’s breath, but in the horrible silence its absence has left Richie can hear their screams. They sound like they’re winning. It’s a good feeling—it’s the only good thing in this wretched place. 

The thing is—and Richie hadn’t even realized it until Eddie was gone, he’d been too busy focusing on all of him—Richie doesn’t have much longer, either. He’s beginning to feel distant, disconnected from his body apart from the pain, which is fading into the background steadily. Eddie is heavy against him, but his hand is still warm in Richie’s. He sighs and tries unsuccessfully not to let it rattle in his lungs. 

Richie lets his eyes fall shut heavily. It’s getting harder to hold them open, anyways, and it’s so much easier to pretend things might be okay if he just focuses on what he feels: Eddie against him, the cool rocks beneath them, and a pain that’s fading rapidly. He presses a light kiss to Eddie’s hair, and doesn’t feel it when the ground begins to shake underfoot. 

When the Losers arrive a moment later, Richie is only coherent enough to recognize that someone is probably crying. He wishes he could crack a joke to break the tension, but he was crying until his body gave up on it—as it is, there might still be tears slipping down his cheeks, but he has no way of knowing. He uses the rest of his energy to squeeze Eddie’s hand one last time and allows himself to succumb to the darkness shrouding his mind. 

  
  
  


Richie blinks the Deadlights from his eyes, and there is Eddie Kaspbrak.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry about that :/ im on twitter [@deaIswarlock](https://twitter.com/deaIswarlock) and tumblr [@jortsbian](https://jortsbian.tumblr.com/) if you wanna come yell at me or chat about the clown movies


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